* Today I fitted new batteries to Bingo's Flashy Thing (technical term for the little light that clips onto his collar and blinks on and off). I'd been putting it off because I was worried that it wouldn't work. You see, I am very fond of the Flashy Thing; it means that even though it is dark by 5-PM, I can conduct the second walk of the day - the one I do - in the evening, savouring the brisk air and safe in the knowledge that my beloved dog is visible to me at all times (that way I know what the cunning bugger is up to).
Anyway, I needn't have worried, because it worked. Flashy Thing is good as new. The evening winter walk has been saved. My handiwork was splendid; the results superb. The crowd rejoiced. Etc. Etc.
* Early this week I tripped into a shower cubical that I was trying to clean at work and yanked my hand. Two days after that two days later I pinched my finger in a trolley. Oh, and three days before, I walked into a door frame and scraped my arm and elbow. And I pulled both of my ankles falling over the dog.
T'is the season to be clumsy.
* Best Friend 1 got a reproachful glare and brief lecture from her mother-in-law the other day. Reason? The latter mentioned bumped into the former in town and found to her dismay that Squidgum was eating something that she deemed as unsuitable, which led to the look and the lecture (regarding the "proper food" to give to children) and, to add insult to injury, some money to buy Squidum something "better" for her lunch.
To clarify: The food Squidgum was eating that was so unsuitable was a big chunk of fresh cucumber. And the food that mother-in-law requested that Best Friend 1 replace it with (giving money so to do) was a sausage roll from Gregg's Bakery.
Best Friend 1 was, as you can imagine, not amused. The look on its own was bad enough, the lecture was pushing the boundary still further, and the smug handing over of a £1 coin to buy the child a "proper snack". Obliterated it completely. Not, of course, that there is anything wrong with Squidgum being given a sausage roll. As foods go, it's a tasty one; quite fatty, but for a growing girl that burns off a tonne of energy running around, it's not particularly unhealthy (it is for someone like me, unfortunately). It was the great hulking assumption that a) Best Friend 1 wasn't feeding her child properly, b) that mother-in-law was better placed to do so and c) that mother-in-law also had the right to go over Best Friend 1's head and offer the child that wasn't hers (directly, mind you) an alternative that was the problem.
Best Friend 1 was livid. She told me when I got back (I'd nipped to the loo and missed the drama) and I was pretty outraged too, because really; who the hell does that? And what a thing to get sniffy about! The child was munching down on fruit and vegetables for goodness sake: the cucumber being the end of a little list of fruity vegetabley loveliness, and even that was only a stop gap until they got home, after which Best Friend 1 was going to give her some (wholemeal) toast. Any other problems aside, Squidgum is an incredibly well looked after child and particularly is well fed. She gets a good mixture of a wide variety of foods, the majority of which she likes immensely. There is no reason at all for anybody to worry about kind of diet that kid is being fed.
Mind you, mother-in-law is weirdly unreasonable about things like that. Best Friend 1 has always had to be vigilant lest Squidgum be continually stuffed with junk food whilst on the parents-in-laws' watch. Mother-in-law thinks nothing of offering a between meal 'snack' that consists of a large plate of chicken nuggets and deep fried chips followed by a bowl of ice-cream (and what self-respecting 3 year old would object to that?)...not good. As I said; growing girl, lots of energy, most of which gets burned off, so treats are fine, really. But certain things have to remain as treats; not as staples, and they certainly can't take the place of other, more healthy and nourishing food. Mother-in-law just doesn't seem to get that. Hence her behaviour.
And in case you're wondering; no, Best Friend 1 didn't punch the woman in the face. After stating her case - i.e. there is sod all wrong with feeding my child (emphasis on MY) cucumber as a snack while she waits for her lunch - she smiled politely, accepted the £1 and simply exchanged the planned toast with the sausage roll that the mother-in-law had so kindly placed at the top of Squidgum's wish list.
"Pick your battles," she told me, simply.
...I don't know. Personally I still think she should have punched her...
* After taking the plunge and weighing myself last week to see what damage all my over-eating had done (a lot), I'm back on the A-Plan - a plan that I made up and as such is personally and perfectly geared to myself - and doing well. A little under 9lbs lost in the past seven days, which is great.
Just another 35lbs to go...
* Work is still bleh.
The wet and windy weather plus the salt all over the car park (to counteract the freezing temperatures at night and prevent any staff and/or customers from breaking anything as they trek to and fro) plus all the HOI visits plus the sale plus the "stock changeover" (which leads to the nefarious night crew being let loose to wreck the store from dusk till dawn) means that the slog is hard and unrelenting with, for the most part, negligible results...or any results at all...I'll be very glad when the sale ends, the weather improves a little and the night crew bugger off having completed whatever the heck it is they are doing (very little, if the grumblings from the day crew are to be believed); truly I will.
* Another minor calamity to befall me; my dog walking/work boots have developed fine tears along various seams. This is OK as far as work is concerned, because they are still in fairly good nick otherwise and perfectly comfortable. But it is not OK as far as dog walking is concerned, because due to where I tend to choose to plod they need to be water-proof, which now they definitely aren't.
I've been using my snow boots as a stop-gap, but they are designed - as the name suggests - for wading through snow, not trudging through the endless sloppy mess of mud and puddles they have recently been subjected to. A week in and the elements had taken their toll; already a tear has appeared along the uppermost seam across the top. A small tear, admittedly, but still.
New boots were needed, I knew that. Money had to be spent. I knew that too. And after a few more days of dithering - because, after all, what kind of boot? I wasn't satisfied with the last one. I may be being unreasonable, but I feel that water-proof boots one has paid £55 for should actually STAY waterproof for longer than 7 months - I have some. £20; waterproof up to the ankle, felt lined (so comfy and warm) and with good grip.
I've marked it on my little calender thingy in my Nice Purple Phone when I got them. Three days so far and apart from a bit of rubbing of my little crooked pinky toes at first as I broke them in, all is well.
We'll see how it goes.
* Thanks to the fogged state of my chest infection ridden brain, I found myself faced - with a sense of as much panic as my drugged and ill consciousness could muster - with the fact that I had three days left to contemplate (let alone purchase) presents and cards to commemorate three family birthdays that happen to fall right beside each other at the beginning of the year.
A sudden gust of inspiration and the forking out for "express overnight shipping" led to mother being the proud owner of a Michael Ball DVD and a certificate of having paid to 'adopt' (i.e. support from afar) a Hawksbill Sea Turtle for 12 months, complete with accompanying congratulatory letter and photograph.
She seems thrilled with them, luckily. And in any case it is better than what my father got, which was an E-card and an apologetic email. And even that was better than what Cousin No.3 was handed, which was an I.O.U.
...All things considered, actually, what with the birthdays fiasco and the illness and the time off work (£95 that's cost me! Plus £23 odd for the damn prescription!) and the prospect of the next lot of wages (which isn't until 11th Feb, thanks to us having been swapped from fortnightly to monthly, whether we like it or not) being completely buggered and the backbreaking slog and string of complaints at work; January really hasn't been going all that well so far.
Roll on February, I say!
Or at least, roll on 26th January. That's when the start of my lovely eight day stretch of holiday starts.
Until then, on I trudge. Cest la vi.
Alice x
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